Life Song
by Hisa-Ai
Summary: Arthur and Merlin meet when they're seven and Merlin's family is moved into the castle. They grow up together, fall in love, build a life, rule a fine kingdom, and everything plays out as it should. "They wouldn't have changed a second of their lives together."


**This is loosely based on/inspired by Taylor Swift's "Mary's Song (Oh My My My)".**

**Bit of an AU, obviously, _but_.**

**Enjoy it anyway.**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin _or_ "Mary's Song," which was the basis for this fic.

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**Title: **_  
(Their) Life Song_

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*.*.*.*.*

When the Great Dragon attacked Camelot in retaliation to his kind being driven to near extinction by one Uther Pendragon, Balinor, the last of the dragon lords, agreed to calm the beast on the conditions that Uther cease hunting him down and allow him and his family to live in the palace in peace. And he was to swear to these terms on the throne of Camelot and the holy word of God.

Reluctantly, Uther agreed to these terms, for he was not one to risk his people, his _kingdom_, because of one man.

And just like that, Camelot was safe, the new family was being moved into the palace, and Arthur was being introduced to a small boy with too big ears and too blue eyes. His name was Merlin, and they didn't know it yet, but their hatred for one another would spark something amazing one day.

But for now they were only seven and Merlin thought Arthur was spoiled and Arthur thought Merlin was weird. But it was okay because boys will be boys and they would have plenty of time to grow into their friendship.

*.*.*.*.*

Like when they were nine and Arthur began to train more than anything else with swords and tutors and other knights-in-training, and Merlin devoured knowledge but also began to work for the court physician. Because even though they lived in a castle, he and his family were not of nobility.

Merlin was hiding a secret that came out to only Gaius that year, and Arthur and the noblemen's sons started making fun of Merlin for spending so much time with an old man. Merlin called Arthur a clotpole that wasn't worth the spit used to shine his boots, and Arthur threatened to beat him up, but of course he would never be allowed to do that, because Merlin's father had saved the kingdom and that was something to be respected and honored.

*.*.*.*.*

Arthur _still_ found Merlin to be odd when Morgana, who was at the castle often enough as it was, moved in one day to stay. Her father had died, and it was Uther's responsibility to care for her now.

When Merlin had heard of the terrible news, he had rushed to Morgana's side, keeping her company and chasing away the nightmares with some odd draught that Gaius had taught him to make.

Arthur decided then that, weirdo or not, Merlin might have been good people anyway.

*.*.*.*.*

Morgana was appointed a chambermaid around the same time that Uther decided Arthur was in need of a manservant. And since Merlin lived in the castle anyway, Arthur was thrilled in a twisted sort of way when it was decided he would work for Arthur.

And how _sweet_ it was, bossing him around and making him do the most demeaning sort of work he could think of. And no matter what Arthur made him do, Merlin could not quit—the son of a dragon lord was _not_ one to quit, after all.

So it was very fulfilling for Arthur.

*.*.*.*.*

Morgana's chambermaid was Guinevere, and she was pretty enough by all standards. She got on well enough with Merlin, even had a crush on him, and the two became quick friends, always helping one another out and talking about nothing in particular, bonding in the way that servants seemed to do.

*.*.*.*.*

Arthur caught the two of them, Merlin and Gwen, kissing one afternoon—just practicing, they had said—and felt a tugging in his chest that he couldn't quite explain until Merlin readied him for bed that night and he grew bold, dared him to kiss Arthur like he'd kissed Guinevere. Merlin's ears had darkened in embarrassment, but he nodded and moved to kiss him anyway. Arthur chickened out at the last moment, running all over the room from him until Merlin finally gave up on the dare.

If Merlin mentioned the incident to anyone—he'd been ordered not to, but Merlin didn't do so well with orders, as it turned out—no one brought it up, much to the prince's relief.

*.*.*.*.*

Just after Arthur was officially knighted—quite earlier than would usually be allowed, actually—he led his first successful patrol with Merlin at his side. They made camp for the night and talked well after the other men had fallen asleep. Against the warm glow of the fire, Merlin admitted that he was proud of Arthur and that maybe he wasn't such a clotpole after all. Dollophead maybe, but not a clotpole.

Arthur had rolled his eyes and admitted to himself that maybe the weird boy with the too big ears and the too blue eyes and a secret to tell who could never quite seem to follow orders wasn't so bad after all. Maybe he was even loyal and brave, if allowed to prove himself—which he would, in good time—and maybe a good friend after all.

*.*.*.*.*

When Uther decided one day, out of the blue, to go back on his word and kicked Balinor out of Camelot, Merlin was meant to stay in Camelot—falling under Gaius' care as his ward and apprentice—while his parents went back to Ealdor. He was moved into Gaius' chambers and, even though Arthur had done everything in his power to change his father's mind on the subject—what good was a king who broke his word, after all?—he knew that Merlin still blamed him for having to say goodbye to his parents.

Arthur had trailed after him, apologizing and trying to make him see reason, but all he got was Merlin slamming his door in his face.

When Merlin came out the next morning to see Arthur sleeping against the wall across from his room, looking uncomfortable and rumbled in a completely un-royal sort of way, he thought the prince was a total fool. A _sweet_ fool, but still a fool nonetheless.

He shook him awake as soon as he was finished chuckling fondly and storing the mental image away for a later time, and they talked it over. Arthur had comforted him about everything and tried to soothe his lingering anger and fraying nerves, and the next thing Merlin knew Arthur was daring him to kiss him like he had when they were 12. This time, though, Arthur didn't run and they kissed and they kissed and it was better than Gwen's and Morgana's combined— because Merlin had practiced with her once as well.

He felt as though his very magic was singing in his veins and he never wanted to let Arthur—or that feeling—go again.

*.*.*.*.*

Uther would never quite approve of their relationship—Arthur was expected to marry a _princess_, after all, not a manservant—so it was never quite done properly—stolen kisses when Merlin was supposed to be attending to his duties, midnight rendezvouses out in the forest or in some back wing of the castle.

But everyone always seemed to _know_ that they were together anyway. Everyone knew not to mess with Merlin or you would have the prince himself and all of his knights on your ass, and everyone knew not to mess with Arthur or Merlin would make your life a living hell. Because for such a scrawny guy with such big ears, he really wasn't someone you wanted to be on the bad side of.

*.*.*.*.*

Uther _did_ try to marry Arthur off a time or two, but the prince always managed to get out of it. Each time he narrowly escaped such a fate, Merlin would corner him in his room at the end of the day and kiss him until their mouths ached with hunger and want, perfectly in sync with every other molecule of their bodies.

*.*.*.*.*

The years passed, and the pair got in quite a few adventures; they nearly died quite a few times, but they saved many lives, they did many great deeds, accomplished many feats, making all the near death experiences well worth it.

Merlin proved his bravery, his worth, proved that just because he was weird didn't mean he wasn't useful. And Arthur was proud of him, though no more proud than Merlin was of _him_ for proving his own worth and strength and courage every step of the way. He proved himself to be a great knight, a great prince, and had the makings of a great king, whether he could see the qualities in himself or not.

*.*.*.*.*

Despite their best intentions, the kingdom was plagued with war and strife, and there was always something to be done, always someone to be looking out for, watching their backs and doing what they needed to do to stay alive. They never found the situation hopeless, however; both Merlin and Arthur were always so sure they would come out alive and on top, their kingdom, their people, safe from all the harm that would otherwise befall them. Arthur was a great knight, after all, and Merlin a great sorcerer, even if Arthur didn't quite know that about him yet.

*.*.*.*.*

An attempt made on Uther's life prompted a very thorough investigation led by Arthur to find the source of it—sorcery, Uther was sure, was at the very heart of it. And Merlin found it about time to reveal his secret to Arthur—the one he had trusted only to Gaius while Arthur was busy with swords and tutors and other knights-in-training, and they all teased Merlin for spending so much time with an old man such as him.

Arthur listened as he rambled on, one of his hands squeezed in his love's hands, tight and nervous and sweaty. Merlin was nervous, oh-so-very nervous indeed, but he went on, telling Arthur everything he needed to know, everything there _w_as to know all in a few breaths, sure he would lose his nerve if he paused for too long between everything.

Arthur, to his credit, listened as he talked, never interrupting, squeezing his hand in reassurance when he stumbled over his words, faltered with nervousness, closed his eyes in shame, in fear. He was sure Arthur would want nothing more to do with him, that he would exile him as his father had exiled his parents, that he would never see him again and it made his heart _hurt_, made his magic itself sad with what that might mean for him.

He was very much surprised, then, when Arthur tackled him, held him down on Arthur's bed and reassured him with kiss after loving kiss that it _didn't matter_ that he had magic. Hell, he said it just made him even _sexier_ and they kissed and they kissed and before Merlin knew what was happening they were tangled in Arthur's sheets, glistening with sweat and love and maybe his magic didn't mean a damn thing after all.

*.*.*.*.*

Well into their relationship, Merlin awoke one morning to such a strange feeling that it had him bolting up-right in Arthur's bed, the blanket falling from him along with Arthur's protective grip on him. The air was cold against his damp forehead and he wouldn't find sleep again that night, filled with a sense of dread and power all at once.

When news came later that evening to an exhausted Merlin—as Arthur rubbed his shoulders, trying to coax any sort of explanation about what the feeling that had been plaguing him all day might have _been _out of him—that Balinor was dead, killed by one of Arthur's men who had happened to be passing through Ealdor, Merlin nodded, accepting the news with ice in his veins as he realized what that odd feeling had been.

Arthur sent the servant away and ordered them not to speak a word of it to his father or he would have them flogged—and while they were at it, he added, they should have that particular knight sent to Arthur as soon they found him—and then set about comforting Merlin.

He hadn't seen his father in person in a few years now, but he was still his father and it still _hurt_. He didn't push away from Arthur's embrace; instead, he collapsed against his chest, coming to terms with the fact that he was now the last dragonlord. And all that power left in his hands would be the death of him when Uther caught wind of it.

*.*.*.*.*

Despite Arthur sending away the knight who had murdered Merlin's father—after a good flogging that he didn't think Merlin needed to know about—his father still found out about Balinor's passing. He was not a stupid man, and quickly realized that Merlin now carried the title, the _power,_ of a dragonlord. He wanted his guards to seize the boy—it was nothing personal, Uther had told him coldly, but dragonlords were much too close to magic for his taste—and Arthur didn't know if he was going to exile or burn him, but he would be having neither of those.

He informed his father that if he touched a hair on Merlin's head, he would denounce his claim to the throne and leave the city immediately. His father was non too thrilled with the threat and had both boys locked in the dungeon for a few days until Morgana managed to talk him down.

In the end, it was decided that Merlin be allowed to reside in the castle unharmed, as a pissed off dragonlord would probably not be in the best interest of the city anyway.

Arthur never quite forgot the look of sheer malice that was written upon his father's face when he ordered the guards to seize Merlin without a second-thought.

*.*.*.*.*

More years passed and Arthur confided in Merlin that, if it weren't for his father, he would have married his magic-wielding manservant long ago. Despite his big ears and his inability to follow orders and his too blue eyes, Arthur said there was nothing he could do to keep from loving him. He suspected that Merlin might have put a spell on him when they first met, but Merlin had hated the prince far too much to do such a thing at such a tender age, so they chalked it up to fate and went about with their secret relationship, no longer fooling anyone with their charade but knowing enough about how Uther would feel about it to know that they would need to keep it hidden a while longer.

*.*.*.*.*

Uther Pendragon died at the hands of an assassin hired by an unknown enemy some time later.

Arthur reported that they somehow managed to slip past the guards and better his father's reflexes, his skills. He died with a sword in his hands, having warded off whoever it was for as long as he could before succumbing to a wound to the heart. Come morning, when a servant came in to wake him, he had been dead for hours and there was nothing anyone—not Gaius, not Merlin—could do about it.

The city mourned its king; Arthur mourned his father, taking over his duties as soon as the court saw fit.

*.*.*.*.*

Merlin helped Arthur through the death of Uther as Arthur had helped _him_ through the death of Balinor. And in time the pain was eased, the stab of loss and grief only creeping up at night when Merlin was curled around him or away from him, and he was reminded that, for all the sadness there was, for everything that hurt him and the kingdom when it came to his father's passing, there was good in the loss as well. There was a silver lining—there would _always_ be a silver lining, if one simply looked hard enough to see it.

Or, he smiled one night, looking down at Merlin's peaceful form as he sighed in his sleep, shifting so he was facing from Arthur, perhaps it was more of a _blue_ lining, one that had haunted his dreams and plagued his waking hours since his childhood.

With his father now gone, he was allowed to be with Merlin more... publicly.

*.*.*.*.*

They took advantage of their situation as soon as appropriate.

Moving past his father's death was hard at first, easier once Arthur realized he could have Merlin dine with him over breakfast, lunch, and dinner, could kiss him in every corner of the kingdom if he desired to, could let their love be known to all who might ask, and even those who hadn't. He could finally treat Merlin in the way he had always wanted to, in the way he _deserved_ to be treated.

*.*.*.*.*

Which included lifting the ban on magic at last—it took a few years to get magic fully embraced back into the kingdom with open arms, but together Merlin and Arthur saw it done, and Merlin was made official Court Sorcerer, his place at Arthur's side meaning more than most people would ever know—and one of them getting down on one knee to ask for the other's hand in marriage.

They would always avoid giving a straight answer when asked who had done the official asking, but most in the palace had the inkling that it had been Merlin to do it. Their king, after all, didn't seem to get much done on his own. Asking for his Sorcerer's hand in marriage would be too much work for him to manage on his own, those closest to the pair would often joke.

They married as soon as they could manage, Merlin's mother the only of their parents to attend for obvious reasons. She cried during the ceremony enough for all of their parents, however.

*.*.*.*.*

There were those who did not approve of what Arthur and Melrin were. Those on the court, even, who insisted that an heir to the throne was needed and that, being married to a _man_, no such thing would come to fruition. Arthur would not hear of their complaints—he was a kind king, a fair ruler, after all, and wasn't that all that really mattered?—but Merlin... Merlin gave more thought to it than Arthur would have liked.

He loved Arthur, had loved him their whole lives—well, except for when he thought he was nothing but a spoiled clotpole not worth the spit used to shine his boots, but even then he might have loved him just a bit, in a childishly innocent and twisted sort of way—but he had to agree that an heir _was_ needed, especially in such dangerous, uncertain times.

Adoption was certainly an option, as their were many nobles who would be proud to have their blood raised by their king, but Merlin knew Arthur would never take someone else's child from them. Magic was out of the question, for obvious reasons, leaving the old fashioned way the only thing left to consider, though it was never considered with much seriousness.

In the end, however, it was simply decided that the crown would pass on to a new bloodline once Arthur and Merlin were both deceased. Perhaps Morgana or one of the knights would take over. For now, though, they were still young enough that it wasn't a problem they would need to seriously consider for a while.

*.*.*.*.*

But then they weren't.

It was the way of things, they knew; one minute they were young and married and happy and protecting their kingdom together and the next they were _older_. Still happy, still married, still protecting their kingdom together, but _older_ and looking back on their lives together, on all the battles and fights and scars and stories and the I love yous whispered into dim rooms and dark nights under the stars and they wouldn't have changed a second of it.

They wouldn't have brought either of their fathers back or either of their mothers, when the time came that Hunith passed on as well, or anyone else they had lost over the years, such as Gaius or close friends, trusted advisors. They wouldn't have taken back the yelling and the frustration that seemed to creep up between the sweet kisses and tender touches. They wouldn't have changed the way that they met, all innocent and full of wrong impressions and a special sort of hatred that only children were capable of.

They wouldn't have changed a second of their lives together.

*.*.*.*.*

They lived well beyond their life expectancy, outliving all their closest friends and family and maybe the crown _wouldn't_ be passed on to Morgana or one of the knights they knew so well after all, but their children were all just as great, just as capable, and Arthur didn't doubt that they would do a fine job taking care of the kingdom he'd spent his entire life protecting and bringing to prosperity. He was old, and Merlin just as so, but they were still capable and happy; they would protect the kingdom to their dying breath, and everyone knew it. After that...

Well, he would just have to hope that the kingdom would continue thriving as it had under his and Merlin's rule.

*.*.*.*.*

Merlin's magic did a fine job of keeping him and Arthur going well past their prime, but he knew, the second he felt the Great Dragon's presence fade from him, felt the remnants of his magic scatter on the wind, into the earth, the stars, the air, that his own magic would be fading soon as well. He was a great sorcerer indeed, he just wasn't immortal. And he couldn't keep Fate at bay. He couldn't keep the Gods from collecting his and Arthur's souls for too much longer.

Though he feared, deep in his bones, what would become of them when it finally happened, he tried not to let it bother him too much in their waking hours, tried not to think, with every kiss that passed between him and Arthur, that it could very well be their last. He didn't want to think of their kisses like that, so... objective, without special meaning other than the eventual signifier of their death. He couldn't bear to think that their next kiss could be their last.

*.*.*.*.*

Eventually it was.

Merlin looked into Arthur's eyes one night and saw the young man he had once been, the child he had thought was spoiled, the teenager he had thought was a dollophead, the prince he knew would grow up into an amazing king, the amazing king he had soon become, and everything that had happened in between. He looked into Arthur's soft, loving eyes after pulling back from a kiss that made Merlin feel like he was young again, and he saw _home_, a lifetime of love and trials and a legacy that would transcend lifetimes.

He wasn't afraid anymore. He knew what was coming, felt his magic slowly leaving him as he lowered his head to the pillow that night, and he wasn't fearful. He was _ready_; he had lived a life full of the sorts of experiences and moments he had never dared hope or dream for as a child; he had felt love and loss and pain and happiness and he knew it had been more than he would have been allowed had he met anyone other than Arthur Pendragon, of all people. He had been blessed in meeting Arthur, in falling in love with him, in being allowed to live out his life by his side.

The last thing he saw before letting his eyes close that night was Arthur staring at him, eyes as full of love as they had always been. And he was at peace with the life they had shared together, whispering his love for Arthur with what would be his final breath.

*.*.*.*.*

Maybe it was the way Merlin had kissed him that last night, or some intuition deep within that Arthur had learned not to ignore during his marriage to him, but, laying there in bed that night, Arthur _knew_.

So he looked into those too blue eyes until the second they slipped shut, and he marveled at how, though wrinkled with time and age, Merlin still very much resembled the weird little boy with too big eyes Arthur had met all those years ago. He was assaulted with all the memories they had shared over the years, and was reminded of how loyal and brave and loving Merlin had always been, and how, even all these years later, he still couldn't take orders to save his own life—but Arthur had never minded that in the least, he had admitted once, in their younger days. He had never minded it a bit.

Their life together had been hard earned, but it had been _earned_, nonetheless, and Arthur had reaped the rewards along the way, always making sure to return the favor to Merlin as he did so.

They were leaving behind a great legacy, a fine kingdom that would be ruled by someone worthy of the title. But what Arthur wanted, more than anything, was for his love for Merlin to be remembered. More than his great kingdom, his love for his people, he wanted to be remembered as someone who hadn't deserved his husband, but who had loved him with all he had to offer, nonetheless. He wanted those closest to them to tell their tale and remember the love they had shared, to pass it down for the generations to remember.

In his younger days, it had been an over-whelming prospect—thoughts of legacies and deaths and letting go and grand love weighing Arthur down through his afternoon training, keeping him up at night, leaving him with shallow breath as he admitted to himself or Merlin, if he were around, that it frightened him. More than almost anything else in the world.

But now... Now it was a peaceful sort of prospect. If he were to die—and die he would—he could think of no better way to go than with Merlin at his side. He might have hoped for a death surrounded by blood and glory, sacrifice and nobility, once, when he was naive and wanted a different sort of tale to be told about him, but this was a more fitting sort of ending for their tale. They would die together—perhaps within hours or minutes of each other—and that would tell more of their tale, more of their life and love, than anything else they had done in their lives ever could.

*.*.*.*.*

After many wonderful years of love and life and ruling a grand kingdom together, Merlin and Arthur Pendragon were found deceased in their chambers on an eerily beautiful autumn morning. They were both smiling, Merlin's eyes closed, and the King's hand was found to be cupping his love's face, eyes open and lips quirked upwards, crinkling his eyes in the sweet sort of way that he typically did when he thought none but his husband could see him.

They left behind a great kingdom that needed looking after, yes, but they also left behind a bittersweet sort of love story that would be told for lifetimes to come, their personal memories lost with their souls, but their legend living on with time, a sweet song composed of all the minutes they had lived, arranged by the whispers of the world, the people conducting the song of their lives well after they had passed on.

*.*.*.*.*


End file.
